It is week I-don’t-know of this blog and I realize I do not have as much to say as I once thought I did. Life is happening even now as I type this entry and life affects me, but I find I have little comment on it. Maybe I have learned the greater value of silence.
If I wrote about Trump and his administration, it would be simple whining. Maybe complex whining. Especially since I have been out of the news-loop for a few weeks and only a little political news sifts through on the other platforms, like sports, that I pay attention to.
If I wrote about the Cubs it would be about the late season angst that all Cubs fans know who lived through the 1969 season and the August-September collapse that allowed the Amazing Mets to amaze people.
I have written recently about my healthcare experiences and therapy, but feel I have shared enough of that for now.
I could write about the fact my space-bar on my keyboard often adds two spaces instead of one, but I have done my best to go back through this document and fixed those typos so there is little or no evidence of it.
Since I have not been to the movies recently, I have nothing to add to that venue of discussion. If any of you have seen the Christopher Robin movie, please comment about the movie—I’ve been reluctant to go even though I am a fan of one Edward Bear, commonly known as Winnie-the-Pooh.
Oh, yes, the old standby. I am reading two books at the moment. There There by Tommy Orange. It is a novel about Native American life in Oakland, CA that leads up to and includes a powwow. I am about halfway through and highly recommend it. The other book is Soldiers In The Army of Freedom, by Ian Michael Purgeon. It is a history of the 1st Kansas Colored Infantry. Yes. The American Civil War. Again. (I have read a great many books about the subject, yet I remain an un-credentialed expert.) It is a real good read starting in the pre-war, Bleeding Kansas era.
Right now I type this in my studio (my poetarium) while Baseball Hall of Famer Billy Williams stares at me from a poster that Dianne gave to me several Birthdays ago. He was my boyhood sports hero. Most the other boys of my childhood neighborhood understandably chose Mr. Cub, Ernie Banks, as their hero. I could have picked Ron Santo, but he played third base and I was an outfielder, like Billy. A couple of my poems covered this topic of little white boys from the republican suburbs emulating their black men baseball heroes in the racially turbulent 1960s.
Our conversion of the garage into a studio / family room / place with chilled air instead of a swamp cooler progresses. During the process I learned part of the reason why contractors do not care for inspectors. Inspectors tend not to show up when they are suppose to and increase the projects duration by about one-third. We wait for both electrical and plumbing inspections today. So far (11:35 am) no inspector has showed up. Might as well be waiting for a cable guy or internet service man for all the reliability.
On 9 Aug 1862 the Battle of Cedar Mountain took place. The Confederates referred to it as the battle of Slaughter’s Mountain. It also shows up as the battle of Cedar Run, Cedar Run Mountain and Southwest Mountain as an amateur historian reads official reports.
This is enough rambling to fill a personal blog entry. Or, if you know the exact number of words that should be used to fill a personal blog entry, let me know.
Love & Light